


Beyond the Knowledge of the Wise or the Machinations of the Powerful

by Chimaera_Chameleon



Series: Silmarillion stories [2]
Category: Silmarillion
Genre: Estel, Estel means Hope, Gen, Why isn't that a tag?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 20:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20297806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chimaera_Chameleon/pseuds/Chimaera_Chameleon
Summary: Why Fingon rescuing Maedhros was such a big deal, in the greater scheme of things.





	Beyond the Knowledge of the Wise or the Machinations of the Powerful

It was Hope sung by Valour-heart, deep within the hellish mountains of Shadow. Hope was that bright refrain to pierce Despair.  
It rang high upon the breeze, over the stones, the strings of the harp reverberating in a reflection of the Song.  
Hope and love for his dearest friend, a fool's hope some would say.  
A fool's hope broke the darkness laying heavy upon the mountains, only for a moment, and the broken soul heard, lifted his voice to match.  
A despairing soul Hoped, only for a moment.  
The harp dropped, forgotten, but that last note continued to ring through the Song, over the stones and the shadow and Despair.  
The refrain held when the harp lay abandoned at the mountain's feet, a silver-gold thread restraining the dark.  
All the twisted creatures avoided that mountain peak forever more, not knowing why their souls shook. Here in the very heart of their Master's great fortress there was nothing they should fear. And yet they did.  
Melkor knew.  
It was rage Shadow-heart allowed to sear his soul. He knew Hope. Had heard it in the original Song.  
It was a design he could not, for all his attempts, twist to his own. Love he could poison, faith he could turn. Happiness and valour and strength were the malleable materials of his craft. All the bright things his brothers sung into being he could turn to his own.  
But Hope was beyond the Song.  
It promised that which would endure when the Song ended, and all his crafts were swept away.

In the end his fortress crumbled, the land he had sought to rule torn apart and buried beneath the waves.  
The waves swept back to the Undying Shores, and there, in the salt and the foam, the path of one of Ilúvitar's Elder children brought them to find a simple harp washed onto the sand.  
It yet sang of Hope.


End file.
